


Hebi-tenshi Jinja ヘビ天使神社

by Lunasong365



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 17th Century, Down Syndrome, Edo Period, Gen, Historical References, Japan, Shinto, Swords, Tea Ceremony, kami - Freeform, koi fish, sake, snake-form!Crowley, tsuchinoko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:46:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5067532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunasong365/pseuds/Lunasong365
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Crowley received his commendation for the Spanish Inquisition, he left Europe in disgust for a change of scenery. He's now in Japan during the early years of the Edo period (aka Tokugawa period, 1603-1867), one of the more significant and interesting eras in Japanese history.<br/>It didn't take long for Aziraphale to join him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've tried to make this historically, culturally, and linguistically accurate, and am thankful to my son D who acted as beta as he is much more fluent in Japanese than I am. I apologise for any errors and welcome corrections.  
> Aziraphale and Crowley's Japanese names are taken from the Japanese edition of Good Omens.  
> アジラフェール (Ajiraferu)  
> クロウリー (Kurourī)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale, priest of the local Shinto shrine, comforts a young boy who has had a disturbing supernatural experience.

After carefully pouring _sake_ into the small ceramic cup, Dai-chi climbed up on a stepping block to set it beside the cut flowers and rice bowl in front of the _kamidana_. He closed his eyes and bowed in respect for a moment, reflecting upon the many recent changes in his young life. His father had died a few short months ago, leaving him and his mother alone. They lived in the village of Hebi no Mura on the shore of the Inland Sea. His mother was currently working in the fields which ensured the village was able to meet the rice tax ( _koku_ ) demanded by the _daimyo_ and his fearsome yet reclusive administrator, Kurouwī-sama. Kurouwī had presided over the village for several years now, but few had actually caught a glimpse of him. His formidable reputation had preceded him, however, and had continued to grow as anecdotes evolving into legend will.

Dai-chi was hoping to call the spirit of his father to the small household altar, but so far, had felt nothing. This was unusual, for unlike most other people who simply believed in _kami_ , Dai-chi was sensitive to the presence of kami. The kami existed in natural phenomena and often could be called to the shrines and altars which humans had built to appease them. Dai-chi could sense their movement and their moods, for the kami were not singular in temperament. The boy took a deep breath and invoked his father in his heart:  _Otōsan, please may I feel your presence in my life again?_

Nothing. Again. Forlornly, Dai-chi carefully stepped down from the block to the floor of the small dwelling. Suddenly, he felt an incredible pressure pushing against his temples and forehead, as though an abominable presence was attempting to force its way into the inside of his head. Dai-chi involuntarily reached his hands up on either side of his head in front of his ears and over his cheekbones, trying to quell the incredible pain that was threatening to overwhelm his senses. He sensed, rather than saw, a glimpse of yellow snake-like eyes as he cried out in agony and fled from his home.

***

Aziraphale put down his calligraphy brush and peered outside to rest his eyes from his notetaking and careful study into the evolution of _renga_ , a type of linked poetry. This form of Japanese _waka_ had strict formatting rules with varying syllabled lines in patterns of five and seven, and its mastery was considered an essential part of the cultural knowledge of high society. Aziraphale suspected that the entire form was going to collapse under the weight of its own exclusionary rules, becoming something much more accessible and egalitarian.

_The cherry blossom  
Tumbles from the highest tree._

_Bit out of season_ , he thought, but pondered still what the final line should be. Distracted by the falling leaves visible outside the _shamusho_ , Aziraphale mused upon his current circumstance. Just like leaves tend to waft on the breeze and collect together, he and Crowley had once again drifted into the same small town. This time it had been Crowley who’d led – after he’d received a commendation from Hell for the Spanish Inquisition, he’d gone to have a look, and had come back and got drunk for a week. _I can’t take this anymore, angel_ , he’d said. _I’m getting out of Europe – I’m ready for a culture change._ He’d contacted Aziraphale after settling into a small Japanese village called Hebi no Mura – Village of the Snake. _You wouldn’t believe the trouble I’m instigating…just try to thwart me!_ he’d teased. It hadn’t taken much to convince Aziraphale to follow him – besides the necessary thwarting of evil, Japan had a rich literary tradition which he’d yet to explore.

Aziraphale had taken a position as _shinshoku_ of the local [shrine](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shinto_shrine#/media/File:Plan_of_Shinto_Shrine.jpg), Hebi-tenshi Jinja. He’d thought it an odd sobriquet ( _Snake-Angel_ ) when he’d accepted the role of priest, and no one was quite sure when or why the name had been adopted. His duties were light, however, and lent much time to his first delight: hands-on review of Japanese literature. Being a Shinto priest in Japan was very different than at either the Catholic or upstart Lutheran churches of Europe. He was not expected to teach, preach, or be a spiritual leader. His responsibilities included officiating at shrine ceremonies and acting as intermediary between the village kami, ensconced at the shrine’s _honden,_ and the villagers. He’d found it ridiculously easy to care for the kami, as it spent very little time actually at the shrine. Instead, it preferred to dwell at the sumptuous home of the village’s administrator, retainer of the daimyo.

Getting up to stretch his cramped legs, Aziraphale slipped on his _zōri_ and stepped out of the administration building into the courtyard of the shrine. The early autumn sunshine added a touch of warmth to the cool midday, and glinted off the newly minted gold and scarlet foliage edging the outside of the low wall surrounding the grounds. Aziraphale strolled down the _sandō_ toward the ochre _torii_ gate marking the shrine entrance. He took a deep breath, enjoying the view from the slight rise upon which the shrine had been built. He gazed south over the sea with its myriad dotted islands, then pulled in his focus as he’d noticed a small child huddled on the steps near the torii. Aziraphale was not entirely comfortable around children, but noted they tended to fall into the following groups:

  *          Small and generally immobile
  *          Still small, but mobile and loud
  *          Extremely mobile and curious, getting into things.
  *          Taller, spotty, and rude.



He also could sense when something was wrong, and something was definitely distressing this child.

Aziraphale sighed and descended the steps toward the child. He stooped down and recognized the young boy – the son of that unfortunate man who’d died of a wasting illness several months back. The regrettable incident had happened just before Aziraphale's arrival, but he was well aware of the personal devastation left behind when a head of household died.

“Dai-chi-chan,” he murmured, gently taking the boy’s chin in his fingers to raise his eyes to meet his own. “Tell me what is wrong.”

The boy blinked back tears and choked a sob. “Shinshoku-san,” he said so softly that only someone with Aziraphale’s abilities would be able to hear, “I’m afraid to go home.”

Aziraphale reached out for Dai-chi and pulled him into his lap. “Dear child, did someone hurt you?”

“ _Hai_ ,” Dai-chi whispered, “but not someone. Some _thing_.” He proceeded to tell Aziraphale about his experience with the kamidana that morning.

Aziraphale was puzzled. The occurrence didn’t correspond with his interactions with kami so far. He lifted the child up and walked with him up the steps and toward the shamusho. Once inside, Aziraphale folded a _shide_ and, after a quick blessing, handed the zig-zagged paper streamer to the boy.  “This,” Aziraphale stated, “will keep evil spirits at bay.” He instructed Dai-chi to hang the streamer across the kamidana and accompanied him through the shrine courtyard back down to the gate. Dai-chi bowed his gratitude and then impulsively tugged on Aziraphale’s sleeve. The priest looked down on the child.

“Yes?” Aziraphale asked.

“Shinshoku-san,” Dai-chi said shyly, “I know you’re not of this world.”  He turned to hurry toward his home.

Aziraphale was astounded.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They type of poetry that Aziraphale is studying, renga, is the precursor to haiku. Renga thrived as a collaborative poetry form for almost 700 years, with strict formatting and diction rules that were necessary knowledge for court society. One form of renga especially popular during the Edo era was _kasen_ , which consisted of 36 linked verses of which two had to be about flowers and three had to mention the moon.  
> Haiku emerged along with the changes in society during the Meiji era, which marked the fall of the shogunate and the restoration of the Emperor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale pays a visit to the fearsome village headman, Kurourī.

Still mystified by his conversation with the young boy earlier that day, Aziraphale headed toward the residence of the village administrator. He’d dressed in his ritual garments of _jōe_ and _eboshi_ to underscore the formality of the visit. Aziraphale had been to this particular abode several times before, but was always unsure what he’d might encounter. He was well aware that he was one of the very few people in the village who’d seen the headman face-to-face. 

Entering the courtyard, Aziraphale was greeted by a servant. “Please tell Kurourī-san that Ajiraferu is here to see him!” Aziraphale commanded in a tone that sounded much more certain than he felt. The servant bowed low and bade Aziraphale to enter the home. Aziraphale removed his zōri and waited patiently as he declined the offer of tea from another servant. He studied the calligraphic scroll hanging in the _tokonoma_ and recognized the chop as that of the daimyo of the region. The _ikebana_ arrangement was representative of the seven flowers of autumn ( _aki no nanakusa_ ). As usual, Crowley’s taste was extravagant yet fully appropriate. Aziraphale turned his attention away from the alcove as the first servant returned and, bowing, beckoned Aziraphale to follow. 

The servant nervously led Aziraphale down the wooden-planked corridor to an unfamiliar section of the house and, sliding a _shoji_ open, gestured for Aziraphale to enter. He then bowed and fled. 

Aziraphale hesitantly stepped through the doorway and felt an almost forceful impact of heat and humidity. He quickly realized he was in a bathhouse; apparently Crowley’s private _furo,_ for the being in question was soaking up to his neck in the steamy waters.

 “ _Konnichi wa_ , Ajiraferu-kun! _Ogenki desu ka?”_ Crowley called out, partially obscured by billowing clouds of fog. 

“ _Hai, genki desu_ ,” Aziraphale cautiously responded, trying to mentally position himself for whatever outrageous scenario Crowley was scheming. 

“Come join me in the bath!” Crowley said. “Geothermal heating, nothing like it! You’d not find something this fine in Europe! Hell’s bells, you’d not even find _baths_ in Europe in this century!” 

Aziraphale could see no reason to decline. The bath was large, with ample room for two. He nodded assent, and Crowley clapped his hands twice. Within moments a young lady appeared to help Aziraphale disrobe from his complicated formal garments. She whisked them away and quickly returned with lye soap, a bath sheet, and two buckets of water.

 Aziraphale was still a bit prudish about nudity in front of others, but he knew this was perfectly acceptable in Japan. Crowley’s private bath was quite a luxury, as the norm was for people to bathe in the small creek which meandered just west of the village to empty into the sea. It was customary for sanitation purposes to collect drinking water upstream and bathe and wash clothes downstream. Toilet wastes were collected for distribution in the rice fields.

 Aziraphale sat on a wooden stool and soaped himself down. “I thought all your servants were afraid of you!” he commented. He rinsed himself with the water from the buckets.

 “Ah, that is Shizue; she is special,” responded Crowley with a chuckle. “So tell me, my friend, why do you visit me today?”

 Aziraphale winced as he gingerly eased himself into the scalding water. Crowley, smiling at the angel’s discomfort, meanwhile looked perfectly at ease. Freed from its elaborate topknot, his undressed, waist-length hair undulated beneath the rippling surface of the water like the beckoning arms of a siren. Leaning back against the edge of the bath, the demon fixed Aziraphale with an unblinking golden gaze. Aziraphale found himself momentarily mesmerized by his strange yellow eyes.

“Crowley, you’re the kami of this village as well as its headman. I’m the only one that knows that, _ne_? I’m relatively new here, but you’ve now lived here several years. Tell me what you have learned about kami. My position at the shrine relies more on following procedure than actually internalizing the culture.”

Crowley closed his eyes in thought. “The kami are found both in nature and in ancestors. They are a reflection of the human connection to all things - the land and the living and the past. They are not the objects themselves, but both dwell within them and are free to move about. The kami are innumerable and dual in nature. All kami contain characteristics of both good and evil, strong and weak, coarse and gentle, lofty and low. Humans believe the kami must be appeased for human plans to be fruitful, and you can see how that’s worked to my benefit! It hasn’t worked out too badly for them either. This village is largely overlooked by the daimyo as long as we deliver our koku. And,” Crowley added, “we _always_ deliver the koku. Appeasing a kami, however, is not always an easy task. It is sometimes difficult to discern what is required, and occasionally the sacrifice does not end well for the human chosen to deliver it.”

Aziraphale had always struggled with duality, finding it difficult to accept that two seemingly opposite elements could be contained simultaneously in the same entity. How could something be both black and white? How could the two aspects work together without tearing their host apart? Was it possible that the two fit together like pieces of a puzzle, with the picture not becoming clear and whole until they were joined?

 Crowley rose to get out of the bath. His long sheath of hair clung to the curves of his shoulders and back as he wrapped his bath sheet around him and clapped for his attendant. Aziraphale again caught himself staring at him. Shizue entered the room and bowed, then turned to prepare a thick pile of _futon_ at the far side of the room. Aziraphale gave her a closer look.

 “Crowley! Your servant – she’s not like other people!”

 Crowley grinned and nodded. “I know – that’s why I like her!”

 “But – I could fix her! _You_ could fix her if you had the least spark of goodness about you!”

 Crowley looked taken aback for a moment, then muttered, “Sure, that’s what I’m all about. I’m holding her back for my own selfish amusement and exploitation. Don’t you think that God made her perfect as she is?

“Aziraphale, the understanding and explanation of what makes her different won’t be discovered for many centuries. It won’t mean people will still not consider her disabled. But I have found her to be an excellent servant: a good listener, eager to please, and not too chatty with the other help. Besides,” he chuckled, “she’s the only one of my servants with courage enough to be in the same room as me. I do have a fearsome reputation.

“She doesn’t need ‘fixing.’ She was born this way and understands her life as it is. To take that away from her would be like setting her adrift in a stormy sea with no oars and no means of navigation. Furthermore, now that she’s worked for me,” he grinned, “she can obtain a similar position anywhere!

“Now, I’m going to get a massage from one of the best practitioners anywhere, and I invite you to stay and get one next.”

Aziraphale felt a peculiar twisting inner lurch in his stomach about being intimately touched by the same hands that had so recently worked over Crowley, and politely declined. He exited the bath and wrapped himself in his sheet as Crowley spoke a quiet word to Shizue. She nodded and bowed, left, and momentarily returned with Aziraphale’s garments. She helped him to dress, then smiled and handed him his eboshi, the black lacquered hat that marked him as a Shinto priest. She bowed and Aziraphale bowed back in respect and appreciation.

“Ajiraferu-kun!” Crowley called from across the room. “Come back tomorrow for _Nagori-no-chaji!_ I wish to honor you with tea ceremony!

Aziraphale turned in surprise. He’d never sat as _shokyaku_ at tea ceremony. “Absolutely,” he responded. “What hour shall I arrive?”

“When else?” answered Crowley cheerfully. “The hour of the Snake!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ritual garments worn by a male Shinto priest are vitually identical to court dress in the Heian era. Aziraphale's garb of jōe and eboshi are actually the least formal of priestly garments, meant for everyday ritual. The jōe is white and the eboshi is black. 'Eboshi' literally means 'crow hat.'
> 
> Shizue has Down syndrome.
> 
> At the time of this story, the baths at Bath are in one of their periodic states of disrepair.
> 
> The same Chinese zodiacal animals used for the lunar year were used to mark time. The Hour of the Snake is actually from 9am to 11 am, which is much too early in the day for this tale! I took a bit of literary license here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale investigates Dai-chi's household shrine with unforeseen results, and later that morning heads toward Crowley's residence for the tea ceremony.

The low light of a dim-burning lantern flickered through the bamboo shades drawn over the windows of the shamusho. Aziraphale continued his study of the _Kokin Wakashū,_ but his mind was on the boy and the mysterious presence attempting to break through to him. Aziraphale determined to go to the boy’s home before sunrise, prior to his mother leaving for the fields, to try to get more information.

Aziraphale stepped out into the chill of the morning predawn. There were few things in this world that were as eternal as he–-of course, one of them was Crowley. Another was the night sky. The constellation the angel knew as Orion was high in the sky over the Inland Sea. _Same stars,_ he mused, _different legend._ Aziraphale had an appreciation for how something as universal as the stars could evoke so many different stories in varying times and places. The Japanese myth about _Ko Mitsu Boshi_ (Three Little Stars) depicted the stars of Orion’s belt as the barrier which separated the warring factions of red _Heike Boshi_ (Betelgeuse) and white _Genji Boshi_ (Rigel). The red and white colors of these stars continued to be seen as important colors in Japanese heritage.

Of course, upon reflection, the differing legends mirrored the diversity among people. No matter how varied though, all people felt a similar need to tell stories to explain and to entertain. Aziraphale, who had been on earth since the Beginning, was amused by the assorted mythologies devised to interpret the creation of the world. He and Crowley…

Aziraphale broke out of his reverie with a start, realizing his circular thought had started and ended with the demon. He’d gotten distracted, and now he was going to be late. He hurried down the steps and through the torii onto the road which meandered through the village.

As Aziraphale approached the little house, Dai-chi happened to walk out the entrance carrying two buckets. The boy stopped upon seeing the priest and politely bowed. “ _Ohayō gozaimasu_ , shinshoku-san.”

“Ohayō, Dai-chi-chan. Is your mother home?”

“ _Sumimasen._ She just left for the fields.”

“Have you had any further trouble with your household shrine?”

“No, thank you for asking. I hung up the shide as you instructed and everything has been quiet.”

“Please, may I come in?”

“ _Dozo, kudasai_ , but I must get the water now.”

Aziraphale stooped to enter the home and looked around in the still-dim light. He could make out the kamidana with the white shide draped across it on an upper shelf above his eyelevel. Cupping his hands, he washed his hands in a basin, then rinsed his mouth in the typical Shinto purification ritual. Approaching the kamidana, he reached up to loosen the shide and immediately felt a most peculiar twitch in his gut.

As he untacked it, Aziraphale was startled to be hit by a sinister force that seemed to be attempting to push him back. Grimacing from the pressure, he held the shide in front of him and shouted, “Creature! I charge you to leave this place!” The shide vibrated wildly between his hands as Aziraphale concentrated on forcing the presence to retreat. He gritted his teeth and pushed hard outwardly with his thoughts as the mysterious being seemed to assault him from all directions. He suddenly felt pervaded as the entity now seemed to be inside him, slithering around like a…snake?

“BEGONE, DEMON!” Aziraphale desperately shouted, pulling upon his only reference of what the creature could be. He applied all his will to expelling the frightening entity from his body. A pale blue glow surrounded him and the being suddenly seem to unclench, retreating with the odd sensation of a vacuum that threatened to haul Aziraphale along with it. The last thing Aziraphale saw, or rather sensed, was a pair of yellow snake-like eyes as the release caused him to fall to the floor of the room, still clutching the shide.

Aziraphale stumbled out the entrance, pulling down on the hem of his _haori_ and otherwise trying to straighten his appearance, just as Dai-chi was returning from the river with his buckets. “Dai-chi,” he said weakly to the wide-eyed youngster, “I think you’d better spend today in the fields with your mother.”

***

As Aziraphale made his way to Crowley’s residence later that morning, he reflected on the incident at Dai-chi’s home. He did not know what kind of supernatural creature had tried to possess him, if indeed that had been the being’s intention. He knew it was related somehow to the kamidana but Aziraphale had sensed no spiritual element. Even so, could it be a kami? Was Crowley aware of its presence in the village? Aziraphale wished he’d explored the topic further with Crowley the day before. It would be rude of him to bring it up today until after the tea ceremony was completed.

Shaken by the earlier experience, Aziraphale had completed a few routine duties at the jinja to try to restore his inner harmony ( _wa_ ). He wanted to be at his best for the _chanoyu_ , as his prescribed role as guest was equally important to Crowley’s as host. Aziraphale checked again to make sure he had brought everything required of a guest.

As he approached the rather elegant estate, Aziraphale noted that, true to image, Crowley had a sturdy black stallion stationed in a small field that appeared to run almost all the way to the nearby beach. Crowley had previously admitted to the angel that he didn’t get on very well with horses, but usually kept one (black only) because they were a necessary evil. Aziraphale whistled for the horse and smiled as he watched it prick its ears, turn around, and nicker as it trotted toward him. The boy tending the horse jogged after the animal and grinned as he observed the village priest rubbing the long nose of the animal as it nuzzled for the treats which Aziraphale procured from his kimono sleeve ( _tamoto_ ). Aziraphale bowed in friendly greeting to the youngster and, delighted to be noticed, the boy bowed enthusiastically in return. Aziraphale gave the horse one more pat on its flank and entered the gate which led to the walled tea garden.

It was like entering another world; a magical oasis created by the perfection of Nature’s simplicity. The little stepping stones on the path had been splashed with water to bring out each variegated hue in the rock. The golden leaves of ginkgo served as backdrop to low-growing crimson maple trees, verdant pine, and artfully-placed rustic boulders.  The white sand bordering the path had been freshly raked. Aziraphale stepped from stone to stone toward the curved wooded bridge which led to the entrance of the tea house. Pausing in the middle of the bridge, he leaned over the railing and was amused to see the _koi_ in the pond below circle and splash in the water as if they were looking for handouts. A few fallen leaves skidded like little boats driven by a light breeze across the surface.

Knowing that Crowley was waiting for him inside the tea house, Aziraphale lightly descended the bridge with a totally different feeling of anticipation from yesterday. Outside the steps to the house was a small stone basin with a bamboo dipper which Aziraphale used to wash his hands and mouth. He then mounted the steps, removed his zōri, and ducked under the low doorway lintel to enter the tea house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japan is at a more southerly latitude than England, so constellations appear a bit higher in the sky.
> 
> A shide is a white, zig-zag folded paper streamer that is either attached to a rope ( _shimenawa_ ) to help demarcate a sacred space, or wand ( _haraegushi_ ) to bestow the blessings of the kami.
> 
> Religion in Japan is quite eclectic, with blended elements of Shinto and Buddhism, and now Christianity. The tea ceremony comes from Buddhist culture.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley prepares tea for Aziraphale and they both come to a realization.

As soon as Aziraphale had left the bathhouse, Crowley groaned. What had he impulsively gotten himself into? A tea ceremony demanded a precise series of actions and dialog, and Crowley knew that Aziraphale had read texts detailing Sen no Rikyu’s instructions for tea. In previous ceremonies, Crowley had used glamor and artifice to impress his guests. Someone as discerning as Aziraphale would know instantly if Crowley was not being genuine and authentic in his presentation, and these were two qualities that Crowley typically disdained.

He tried to relax under Shizue’s ministrations, but now his mind was racing with plans. He knew the garden and tea house were spotless; they always were, but his personal attention would be required. He had to choose which tea utensils to use, flowers to feature, and what sweet snacks to serve.

The ceremony Crowley had selected, _Nagori-no-chaji,_ was a ritual which honored the use of the last of the year’s tea supply and the end of warm weather. Transition and change were themes that Crowley understood via his constant adaptation to human ingenuity. However, the brutal inventiveness spawned by the Inquisition had made him physically ill. He’d had to leave Europe before his weakness in this regard was detected by Hell—or worse, Aziraphale, who was, despite the Arrangement, still the Enemy. Crowley was much more comfortable with the cyclical changes of the seasons, the consistency of human nature, and the eternal dance in which he and Aziraphale had partaken through the centuries. It seemed they were forever ending up in the same locales, and indeed, it had only been a few years after Crowley had settled in Hebi no Mura that Aziraphale showed up. Crowley smiled at the memory and suddenly felt more assured. After all, Crowley had slipped seamlessly into his role of furtive headman and covert kami, while Aziraphale was essentially performing only the minimum required of a shinshoku.

“Shizue-san,” Crowley politely requested, “that will be enough massage for now. Please get me a _yukata_ instead of kimono; I have some work I need to do in the tea garden.”

***

Crowley heard Aziraphale’s steps on the small wooden bridge which marked the entrance of the tea house. Demurely kneeling in the spot designated for the host, Crowley awaited Aziraphale’s entrance. The three _tatami_ mats forming the floor had been swept to perfection, the shoji were spotless and, as the day was fair, one of them was opened to allow a view of the pond and garden. The azure sky, mirrored with the golden leaves of the garden, created a delightful watercolor pondscape, which in turn dappled the interior of the teahouse with reflected speckles of light. The tokonama featured a minimalist _chabana_ of one cut branch of scarlet maple leaves and a late-growing aster bloom.

Aziraphale entered and took a moment to appreciate the simplicity of the flower arrangement before crossing the small room and kneeling ( _seiza_ ) on the small pillow ( _zabuton_ ), folding his legs underneath his thighs and turning his feet inward to create a small seat. He looked up and gave Crowley a reassuring smile, his brown eyes twinkling with anticipation. He had worn a formal black kimono with the white _mon_ or crest of the temple printed on the chest, sleeve, and back of the garment, and a subtle dove-grey _nagajuban_ underlining.

Crowley was dressed in a dark green silk kimono with a deep gold _nagajuban_ that enhanced the unique aspects of his eyes. He wore his hair in a simple tie-back, and the glossy length of it tumbled over his shoulders as he tended the small charcoal brazier. Returning Aziraphale’s smile, Crowley commenced the ritual of tea by placing a small earthenware bowl of sweets between the two beings. “ _Okashi wo dozo,_ ” he requested politely, indicating that Aziraphale should go first.

After enjoying the sweets, Crowley accepted Aziraphale’s appreciation and began preparations to make _koicha,_ the thick green tea that is the staple of tea ceremony. He first warmed the tea bowl with hot water from the small kettle hanging over the brazier. Aziraphale watched with interest as Crowley wiped the bowl, then measured from the last of his supply of powdered green tea ( _macha_ ) into the vessel. He added hot water with a ladle and whipped the mixture with a bamboo _chasen._ Crowley offered the frothy blend to Aziraphale, who first requisitely inspected the ceramic bowl in which it was served. The _chawan_ was indeed very beautiful, with minor imperfections in the unglazed surface which added to its uniqueness. Aziraphale stated, “Thank you for making tea, and please excuse me for drinking ahead of you.” He sipped the bitter tea and nodded approval to Crowley. Aziraphale sipped again and then passed the bowl to Crowley, who gracefully accepted the chawan with slender fingers.

After finishing the tea, the angel and the demon sat peacefully enjoying the moment and each other’s company. Crowley then started to clean the tea utensils as the final step of the ceremony, passing each major piece to Aziraphale to admire.

Crowley concluded the chanoyu with a quote from tea master Sen no Rikyu: “ _Ichi-go; ichi-e_ (This moment comes but once; and will never come again).” He reflected upon the statement—in their continuing existence on earth, he and Aziraphale had indeed shared many moments and many moods – some antagonistic, especially in their early days, and some conciliatory, as when they’d devised the Arrangement. Today was indeed singular in that he’d felt no need to contrive anything – he was perfectly comfortable as himself in the presence of the angel for perhaps the first time. Performing the ritual had helped. Crowley knew that ritual was a human construct which provided a framework for shared experience. Who could have guessed that something so human would be beneficial for supernatural beings as well?

***

Crowley joined Aziraphale on the wooden bridge where the angel was tossing crumbs into the water off a rice cake pulled from his sleeve.  The koi roiled the surface as they fought for position, their mouths agape.  “Greedy buggers, aren’t they?” Crowley chuckled as he leaned companionably against the railing. He waved his hand to procure a handful of maggots and sprinkled them over the pond surface, causing a riot of orange, black, and white.

“Mmm,” Aziraphale agreed. “Crowley, your garden is so tranquil. The ceremony was lovely; faultless in beauty and simplicity. Thank you again for honoring me as your guest. Everything now seems in harmony and so right. It’s almost like…” Here Aziraphale to be reaching for a thought, then discarding it. “Well, anyway. What you said about experiencing each moment only once—it seems a shame that together, we can’t have more like today.”

Crowley was inwardly surprised. Was Aziraphale suggesting something beyond their Arrangement of non-interference—a truce? Aziraphale was one of the only constants in Crowley’s ever-evolving efforts to mess with humans, and the transformation was a bit disconcerting. He coolly tried to calculate how to turn it to his advantage, then abandoned the idea. After his most recent commendation, Crowley hadn’t been too enamored with the concept of scoring points for Hell anyway. He wondered if the angel had likewise received a commendation for the Inquisition, and felt the same way. If he had, Aziraphale had kept that information to himself.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale continued, “something has happened in the village that I need to ask you about.” He proceeded to tell Crowley about the incident that morning with the unknown presence at the home of Dai-chi and his mother. Crowley knew the small family, as he knew everyone in the village, but was caught unaware by Aziraphale’s story and especially by the image of the creature’s eyes and the tale’s almost violent conclusion.

“We have to go,” Crowley concluded. “We need to find out what this is and stop it. Aziraphale, I can’t let things like this happen in my village!” He strode through the garden with Aziraphale in tow and shouted to a nearby servant, “Bring me my swords!”  The servant fled inside the house and presently Shizue came out with two swords; the longer _katana_ and the shorter _wakizashi._ She bowed and presented them to Crowley, her eyes flashing with excitement. “ _Ganbatte kudasai_ , Kurourī-sama,” she cheered, then covered her mouth with her hand and bowed again.

“ _Ikemashō_ , Ajiraferu-kun!” Crowley said, slipping the sheathed swords through his _obi_. "There’s only room for one Serpent in this village!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've really simplified the tea ceremony but if you'd like to learn more, this website is an extensive resource.  
> http://japanese-tea-ceremony.net/
> 
> The two swords that Crowley calls for are typical samurai weaponry. By the end of the Edo period, samurai had increasingly become courtiers, bureaucrats, and administrators rather than warriors, and this led in part to the collapse of the shogunate. The Meiji restoration marked the end of the samurai class and the right to bear swords.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mysterious entity finally manifests itself.

Crowley closed the garden gate after Aziraphale, and followed behind him down the village road. Aziraphale had stopped at the horse pasture. The black stallion whinnied and started toward the angel, but then shied and wheeled when Crowley joined Aziraphale. “ _Baka!_ ” Crowley muttered. 

“What’s your horse’s name?” inquired Aziraphale. 

“His name,” stated Crowley, spitting venom, “is Kurokaze. And don’t,” he continued, “think that it’s because he’s black and fast as the wind. That horse seems to have a constant state of indigestion. Or more likely, he just doesn’t like me. His mood is black, his _onara_ are most foul, and I don’t like him back!” He glowered at the horse, which stamped its forehoof and snorted at Crowley. 

Aziraphale laughed at the demon’s petulance. The young horse tender stood by uncertainly, not sure how to react. The boy finally decided to end the standoff by grabbing the line attached to the stallion’s halter and leading it away from the road further down the pasture.  Crowley watched as the horse lifted its tail and defiantly left a steaming deposit. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. 

“Don’t even start,” Crowley grumbled. The two beings continued down the low rise toward the main gathering of houses. The village was relatively deserted this time of afternoon, with most of the farmers still preparing the rice fields for winter, but some fishermen’s wives were sitting in the sunshine mending nets, their long shadows animatedly shifting along with their chatter. As the headman and priest approached, the women fell silent. Some retreated inside, but others fell to their knees and lowered their foreheads to the dirt. Aziraphale observed one of them furtively circle her fingers in a hex sign. 

“That’s more like it,” Crowley beamed beatifically. “And you’ll like this too, Aziraphale. Over there,” he gestured, ”is where they’re just starting the process of brewing this year’s _sake.”_

Crowley animatedly explained how sake rice, which is different than table rice, is polished to remove the husk, then steamed to create a mash. _Koji_ mold added to the mash causes a chemical reaction to create sugar. Next, yeast is introduced to convert the glucose to alcohol. The mash is then mixed with pure water and fermented. “It takes thirty days of cool temperatures for successful fermentation,” Crowley remarked, “and that’s why we can’t start the process until now.” 

Aziraphale was impressed at Crowley’s knowledge and enthusiasm.  “Will it then be ready to drink?” he questioned. 

Crowley chuckled. “Not yet, angel. Still needs filtering, then storage for maturation. Just like wine or beer. It’ll be ready to drink come spring or probably a little later.” He turned and pulled Aziraphale by the arm to face him. “Will you still be here?” His questioning golden eyes met Aziraphale’s brown ones. 

Startled, Aziraphale dropped his gaze to study his nails. _Wherever home is, you’d be there._ The thought rang in his head clear as a bell. Where had that come from? Was it his thought? Was it Crowley’s? He looked up into Crowley’s earnest expression, which quickly flashed to nonchalance. “Not that it matters,” the demon hastily amended. Crowley dropped his hand and fingered the sword hilts at his waist. 

The two were currently walking past the torii gate of the shrine. The hillside painted with fall foliage behind the small complex was lit by the sun starting its descent toward the Inland Sea. With only a few more meters to go before arriving at Dai-chi’s home, Crowley pulled the long scabbarded katana from his obi. With a nod, he handed it to a surprised Aziraphale. 

“Here,” he said. “I’ve got my wakizashi, and I’d just feel better about this if you were armed too. You have a much better idea of what we’re walking into, and it sounds like it could be dangerous. I’d be honored if you’d use my sword.” 

Aziraphale grasped the sheathed weapon horizontally with both hands and gently pulled the handle to withdraw the blade a few inches to examine it. “Very well,” he acquiesced. He slipped the sword back into its protective _saya_ and slid the katana through his belted sash. “I  am honored, Crowley.” He smiled at his companion. The last time Crowley and Aziraphale had been armed in each other’s presence, they’d been trying to kill each other. They had killed each other several times during their early years on Earth. It was rather more satisfactory to be on good relations with the only other being on the planet who really seemed to understand oneself. 

At the doorway of the little house, Crowley and Aziraphale steeled themselves for the unknown horror that waited within. They drew their swords—Crowley the short wakizashi and Aziraphale the long katana—and entered the dark interior. 

***

“Okay,” said Crowley, leaning casually against the door jamb. “Tell me again how utterly frightening this mysterious presence is.” He watched a mouse scutter through the shadows across the room. 

“Er,” said Aziraphale. “It’s in the kamidana. It’s being held back by that shide.” He gestured toward the folded paper chain tacked above the household shrine. 

“Huh,” Crowley skeptically answered. He strode toward the shrine and flicked the shide away with his blade. 

Aziraphale wailed, “NOOOoooooo!” but Crowley had already been flung across the room. The mouse fled. Crowley lay stunned on the floor as the sinister pressure Aziraphale had felt earlier seemed to be oozing, slithering, binding around the two beings. An odd sense of energy—perhaps the supernatural entity was trying to manifest? The flickering serpentine eyes flashed here—then there, like a static charge. Aziraphale held his sword in ready position and advanced. 

“Ganbatte!” called Crowley, rolling over and up. “That’s it; how about using that flaming sword trick of yours?” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, dear! This house is made entirely of paper and wood!” Aziraphale called back, his attention focused at the apparent convergence of the aura. 

And then suddenly—there it was. An enormous snake-like creature seemed to fill the small room, its writhing coils slipping smoothly around Aziraphale. They started to constrict him. 

“Um, a little help, please?” Aziraphale glanced over to where Crowley was standing with mouth agape. 

“Ngk,” said Crowley, then recovered. “Sure, angel, what do you want me to do?” He brandished his sword. 

“No! Don’t hurt it! Can’t you—oh, I don’t know—talk to it?” Aziraphale was almost completely hidden underneath the circling bands of striped cryptid. The snake-like entity’s head wound around to stare directly at the demon. Crowley, unblinking, stared back. Aziraphale couldn’t see anything but was valiantly trying to keep the center support of the house upright with one half of his mind while remaining corporated in his body with the other. He overheard Crowley muttering something about bringing swords to a word fight. Then all at once the coils relaxed, and Aziraphale could breathe and see again. But what he saw took his breath away. 

A tiny moss-green snake across the room was nose-to-nose with the ginormous serpentine creature. It wasn’t really tiny, of course, but just in comparison. The two reptiles did indeed appear to be deep in conversation. Aziraphale watched, fascinated. He hadn’t seen Crowley in snake-form since Eden. 

Crowley restored himself to his favorite shape. 

He brushed some dust off the silk of his kimono, then turned to Aziraphale. “This is a _tsuchinoko_ ,” he explained, “and the true kami of the Hebi-tenshi Jinja. It’s been trying to make contact with Dai-chi because he is sensitive to the presence of kami. Not that you aren’t,” he hastily added, “but it is a bit irregular, you taking care of the shrine and all.” The tsuchinoko waved its head and hissed. “And me being the kami,” Crowley lamely ended. 

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. “Well, that’s certainly understandable. I know first-hand that young Dai-chi is very sensitive to the presence of supernatural entities.” He hadn’t yet told Crowley about the boy’s perceptive statement by the torii gate on the first day of the strange happenings. 

“I agreed to resign as kami,” Crowley said mournfully. 

“And I’m not a very good shinshoku,” added Aziraphale. “I’ll resign too. Dai-chi can take my place, and his mother can help him. He’ll do a much better job than me, and it will be a more relevant trade for him than being a rice farmer.” 

“Hey,” said Crowley sharply. “I take exception to that. This village’s farmers are treated very well.” 

The tsuchinoko chose this moment to dematerialize with a ‘pop!’ The center support of the house started to waver, the walls began to shake, and the roof fell in. The walls collapsed in upon themselves in a huge pile of dust, straw, and splintered wood. 

Momentarily, two ghostly figures emerged from the wreckage and stumbled toward the road, where Dai-chi and his mother were standing in shock. 

“Dai-chi…he said that he could sense something happening at the house and we’d better go and see,” his mother stuttered. Dai-chi just stared at Aziraphale and Crowley. Neighbors were starting to gather and chatter. 

Aziraphale put one dusty hand each on the shoulders of the boy and his mother. “I think you two had better spend tonight at the shamusho.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tsuchinoko aren't really as huge as written for this story. They measure between 1-2 meters long and are venomous instead of constrictors. Some reports says they can jump and some say they can roll with their tails in their mouths. These cryptids are mostly known in the West through characterization in video games.  
> So, yeah, basically the only thing I kept was its snake-like nature and cool name.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale sanctifies the kamidana to receive a special resident, and he and Crowley prepare to leave Hebi no Mura.

Aziraphale checked on the sleeping forms of Dai-chi and his mother, then slipped outside the shamusho into the chilled pre-dawn air. Fog shrouded the village and dampened sounds, although he could hear a pair of foxes yipping to each other higher up the hill past the honden. He carefully made his way down the steps toward the road and turned right in the direction of Dai-chi’s home. Former home. The dust-covered ruins would surely soon be picked over by others in the village for recoverable materials, but at this moment, Aziraphale was searching for something special. 

Side-eyeing the mouse observing him from a nearby plank, Aziraphale lifted a few splintered wooden girders out of the way and honed in on what he was seeking. Near the foundation where the west wall had collapsed, the kamidana lay underneath a pile of straw, some roofing stones, and other debris. It was relatively undamaged, and Aziraphale carefully freed it from the rubble. He reverently carried it down the mist-covered road to the village stream. 

Once on the pebble strewn banks, Aziraphale spread out a cloth and gently placed the kamidana in the center. Removing a ladle from his sash, Aziraphale performed the familiar purification ritual upon himself and then poured water from the stream upon the small shrine until it ran clear onto the cloth. Aziraphale would have preferred to let the kamidana greet the sunrise ( _Amaterasu-ōmikami_ ) and dry in the morning light, but on this dank dawn, the sun was not forthcoming. Instead, he thoroughly wiped the altar dry with another cloth. 

Bundling the cloths, Aziraphale picked up the kamidana and retraced his steps a hundred meters, then hooked a left and trudged up the hill a short way to the village cemetery. The cemetery lay on the same hill as the shrine, but near to the opposite side. He mentally read through the many names listed on the vertical wooden _sotoba_ and stone stele internment markers until he found the right one. Kneeling respectfully before it, Aziraphale held the altar at arm’s length. 

“Dai-shin, father of Dai-chi and husband to his mother, this shrine is now purified and ready to receive you,” Aziraphale prayed. He smiled as he felt the warm presence of love envelop and fill the vacated kamidana. 

Returning to the shamusho, Aziraphale found Dai-chi already dressed and alertly ready to begin his new role. Aziraphale had already explained to the boy and his mother last night that he, as current priest, would be leaving the shrine and that he was confident that Dai-chi would make a fine replacement. “Ohayō gozaimasu _, senpai!”_ the boy chirped. 

Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled. “Ohayō gozaimasu, _kōhai._ Look what I have! Let’s place it here on this shelf as a reminder of your former home. Would you like to set some sake and rice before it?” 

Aziraphale helped the boy locate the offerings and watched him prepare and set them before the altar. The angel observed with delight as Dai-chi’s serious face broke into an unrestrained grin and then a gleeful shout. “ _Okāsan!_ Otōsan is present in the kamidana!” 

Dai-chi’s mother entered the front room with her hand over her mouth and her eyes shining with tears. She gave her son a hug and then glanced at Aziraphale. “ _Hont_ _ō_ _desu ka,_ shinshoku-san? Is this true?” 

“Hontō desu,” Aziraphale assured her. 

He left the happy pair and returned outside. The fog had not yet lifted. Aziraphale walked up the slight rise to the _heiden_ , the ceremonial building directly in front of the honden where the kami dwelt. Many shrines had guardian _komainu_ statues outside the heiden or on the grounds. These statues were uniquely carved in pairs to represent yin yang characteristics. One distinguishing feature of Hebi-tenchi Jinja was that it did not have dog guardians. Instead, its [statues](https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/10/13437137_cf349127f3.jpg) were of a _tennin_ , a spiritual being dressed in a feathered kimono, and a serpent stylized like a legendary dragon. The statues were an odd congruence of Chinese mythology and Buddhist imagery with Shinto religion. 

Aziraphale had always known the tennin sculpture balanced a delicate lotus blossom in her hand, but until today, he hadn’t really noticed that the base of the serpent’s statue was also decorated with the flower. The figure appeared to have one ferocious back claw shredding the fragile petals into a pulp. Aziraphale almost laughed out loud. To him, it was a pretty apt representation of how two sides just don’t mix. 

*** 

The only reason the fog had cleared was because the overcast skies had delivered on their promise of rain. Aziraphale and Crowley were seated around a low _kotatsu_ heated table with a blanket covering their laps. The view from Crowley’s back _engawa_ (veranda) overlooking the Sea could have been breathtaking, but on a brisk afternoon like this, the [rain chains](http://muza-chan.net/japan/index.php/blog/japanese-traditional-architecture-kusari-doi) hanging from the eaves only served to clearly demarcate the boundary between inside and out, wet and dry, chilly and cozy. The fishermen’s boats were barely visible; pulled up on the short rocky beach by the stream outlet in a neat row. 

“I’ve spent the day instructing young Dai-chi and his mother on the duties required of the shinshoku at the shrine,” Aziraphale stated. “I feel quite confident that, with her assistance, he’s fully capable of meeting them.” 

Crowley tactfully did not mention that Aziraphale was being replaced by a nine year-old boy. “So when are you leaving Hebi no Mura?” He leaned his elbows on the table, mesmerized by the steam rising from the angel’s sake cup and distracted by the proximity of the angel’s feet under the blanket. 

“Most probably by the end of the week,” Aziraphale stated, regretfully setting down his drained beverage. The _[masu](http://web-japan.org/nipponia/nipponia44/images/feature/01_01.jpg)_ was generous in size and, in a display of Crowley’s wealth and extravagance, had been filled to the brim. He wasn’t sure if his inner glow was due to the warm sake, the encompassing blanket, or the demon’s contented smile from across the kotatsu. Crowley once again had his hair pulled into an elaborate topknot, which only served to accentuate his fine cheekbones. Shizue appeared from out of nowhere with a flask to refill both their drinks. “I’m thinking about going to London this time. Right now, Spain is still the empire on which the sun never sets, but England is coming on. And London _is_ England. How about you?” 

Crowley glanced benevolently at his favorite servant. “I’ve already made arrangements for Shizue to join the daimyo’s household. The tsuchinoko will serve as village kami. As for the villagers themselves,” he confided as Shizue disappeared inside, “I’m sure they’ll be just fine after their administrator experiences an unfortunate and mysterious ‘disappearance.’ The daimyo has no shortage of underlings to whom he owes favor. I guess I’m easily replaced as well.” He sighed. “I hope the new headman is as demanding and difficult as I was.” 

Aziraphale tactfully did not mention how the many efficiencies and innovations introduced by Crowley had actually improved village life. “It’s too bad that we’ll both miss the annual shrine festival. I haven’t been here long enough to attend even one, but I know that it’s something you truly enjoyed.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Crowley said wistfully. The festival involved carrying the kami down the main road of the village in a brightly-colored palanquin on the shoulders of several bare-chested young men. The whole village joined in the celebration which included music and drinking and dancing in the street. Unfortunately, it wasn’t held until spring. “I hope the tsuchinoko can manifest itself in a different size. But I might come back just to see what happens if it can’t.” He smirked and lifted his masu to Aziraphale in a salute. 

Aziraphale chuckled at the joke and raised his in return. The two beings spent the dismal afternoon drinking and laughing and sharing anecdotes about village life. Aziraphale eventually got around to telling Crowley about the guardian statues at the shrine. 

“They’re so different from each other. Opposite in almost every way. One is female, the other male. One is nurturing, the other destructive. One is from heaven, the other from below the earth. One’s an angel and the other a snake.” Aziraphale starting ticking off all the other contrasts between the sculptures on his fingers. “It seems to me they’d always be at odds with each other instead of protecting the shrine.” 

 _“Gomen nasai demo, wakarimasen._ I am very sorry, but you don’t understand,” Shizue politely interrupted. “They’re not meant to be the same. It takes both of them, working together using their differences, to safeguard what is important and sacred.” She smiled and poured more sake and bowed. 

Crowley and Aziraphale just stared at her. It was the most words Crowley had ever heard her say. 

***

A week later, Dai-chi was industriously sweeping leaves from the _sandō_. Ajiraferu-san the priest had quietly taken his leave that morning, but Kurouwī-sama had first stopped by to say goodbye to him. Instead of parting at the bottom of the shrine’s stairs, the two had walked together all the way through the village to Kurouwī-sama’s estate. Dai-chi knew he wasn’t meant to understand everything, but the ethereal _reiki_ he’d always sensed from the priest was mirrored in some complementary way by the otherworldly energy emanating from the headman. The auras seemed to swirl together, not mixing or blending, but rearranged in form and joined into something inseparable. _Wa,_ Dai-chi had concluded as he’d watched the figures recede up the road. _Cooperation and trust can create harmony and balance from distinctly contrasting elements._

High above his head, two leaves clung to the tip of a cragged beech tree branch. They lingered silhouetted against the sun, one bright as light, the other in shadow, rustling in the incessant breeze, entwined, murmuring; until at last they let go, wafting, twirling—dancing together one after the other into the western sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a good example of how when one is doing research, they'll run across something that changes the direction of the story. For me, that was finding Chris Trevino's artwork of 'Tennin and Dragon' which I've linked in the story. They seem like the perfect guardian mascots of the Hebi-tenshi Shrine.
> 
> I do not in any way want to seem disrespectful of the position of shinshuko or kannushi when I write that the priest is replaceable by a nine-year old boy. This is supposed to be reflective of what a poor job Aziraphale is doing of it.
> 
> You may be surprised at the size of the masu (about 6 oz) if you have knowledge of contemporary sake sets. The small _guinomi_ or thimble-sized _ochoko_ did not enter general use until later in the Edo period.
> 
> ***
> 
> I have thoroughly enjoyed writing this fic and hope that it has intrigued you, the reader, to learn more about Japanese history, culture, and language. I have done my best to define the language by context, but any of your questions should be able to be answered via internet search or please send me a message via my tumblr lunasong365.tumblr.com
> 
>  _Dōmo arigatō_ for reading!


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